To Sketch a Thief

by Sharon Pape

  The room was delightfully warm and inviting compared to the previous day, so Rory didn’t have to talk herself into leaving the bed behind. She had a lot to do, and she was eager to get started. Before falling asleep, she’d decided she wanted to find some DNA belonging to Joe Kovack. And not because Zeke had made her doubt her instincts about the man. She was looking forward to proving Zeke wrong for once, to throwing that all knowing, superior attitude of his for a loop or two. But first she was going to have to come up with a believable excuse to visit the Kovack home, since she didn’t have any real progress to report on the investigation.

  She was brushing her teeth when it came to her. Aunt Helene would have a sudden interest in buying a Maltese, and Rory, being the devoted niece that she was, would take her to meet Tina and see her dogs.

  Helene was more than happy to oblige, even though it meant rescheduling a yoga session. Rory collected her at eleven o’clock, after reassuring her that she didn’t need time to research and prep for her part. Helene hopped into the car, aglow with the excitement of her new assignment. She’d dressed in what she considered dog aficionado chic: chinos, a Ralph Lauren polo and ankle boots. Her hair was pulled back into a French twist, from which numerous strands were making their escape.

  “I didn’t tell your mom and dad that you asked me to help you,” Helene whispered, even though Rory was the only one in the car. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings or anything.”

  “It’s not a secret,” Rory said. “And I doubt they’d be insulted. In fact, I think my dad would be thrilled to know that he was left out this time.”

  Satisfied that she’d done her duty with regard to family unity, Helene spent the rest of the trip chattering away about dogs in general and about the specific questions she’d thought up to buy Rory the time she needed.

  Tina was waiting to show Rory and her potential new customer around. She, Joe and their two adolescent boys lived in a sprawling yellow ranch house with gleaming white shutters and trim, surrounded by a white picket fence, all in vinyl. Like Mac, Rory had always preferred the look of wood, but now that she was the home owner, she had to admit there was something to be said for no paint, easy maintenance. Obviously the Kovacks had come to the same conclusion. Keeping up appearances was important when you were trying to entice people to buy expensive dogs from you.

  There was a green sign with gold letters posted at the entrance to their driveway that read “Kovack Farms,” and in smaller lettering, “Breeders of Prize-Winning Maltese.” Rory wondered how many prizes your dogs had to win in order to make such a claim and whether it was considered false advertising if you embellished on the truth.

  Tina greeted them at the front door and introduced them to the three well-mannered Maltese who shared the house with the family. Rory and Helene knelt down to pet them a brief hello. Then Tina led the women through the beautifully appointed house into a gourmet kitchen with highend finishes on every surface and appliances that would have dazzled any chef. As they walked, Tina babbled on about whatever popped into her mind, barely taking time to breathe. Rory wondered how Joe could stand it. Maybe it became a form of white noise that he was able to ignore. Like her father and a lot of other men he’d probably even perfected the benign “smile and nod” technique that made his wife think he was listening.

  The kitchen opened into a large family room with custom bookcases built around a media center that showcased a seventy-inch flat-screen TV.

  “What a beautiful room,” Rory remarked, thinking that she might like to decorate her living room this way when she could afford it.

  “And look at that TV,” Helene gasped. “It’s practically the size of a movie theater screen.”

  “I surprised Joe with it on his last birthday.” Tina smiled. “You should have seen his face. You could have knocked him over with a feather, as my mother used to say.”

  “Lucky guy,” Helene said, sounding sincerely as if she wished she had a Tina in her life.

  “Believe me,” Tina replied, “I’m just as lucky. He’s a great husband.”

  Tina ushered them through French doors out to a large backyard that was shaded by a canopy of old maples. The kennels were inside a yellow and white mini version of the main house, heated, air-conditioned and populated by another nine Maltese. She pointed out one of the dogs who was basking in the sun. “That’s Clementine—she’ll be whelping any day now.”

  Having heard her name, Clementine raised her head to check out the visitors. She offered them a cheerful little wag of her tail, but didn’t bother to get up when the other dogs went running to greet the women.

  “She’s carrying five pups, but only three of them are spoken for,” Tina said, “so if you decide you’d like one, Helene . . .”

  “How exciting!” Helene exclaimed, sounding like a kid on Christmas morning.

  Rory hoped her aunt hadn’t forgotten the real reason they were there. In any case, it was definitely time to make her play. She asked Tina if she could use the bathroom.

  “Sure, just go in the back door and make a right through the kitchen and you’ll see it.”

  Helene shifted into second gear on cue. “Do you think I could possibly go into the kennel to play with the dogs?” she asked as Rory walked away.

  “We actually have an area set up for that exact purpose,” Tina said.

  Rory made her way back across the lawn to the house. She found the powder room to be small and tidy and completely devoid of any personal effects belonging to the family, which was what she’d expected. After a cursory look around, she went in search of the master suite. She checked her watch so that she didn’t stay inside too long and arouse Tina’s suspicions. She was feeling guilty enough about sneaking around behind her client’s back. In fact, the only way she’d been able to broker a truce with her conscience was by putting the focus on proving Joe’s innocence. Still, the police detective in her was setting off alarms as she made her way into the master bedroom.

  She stopped short at the door to the master bath. Was she really going to do this? Damn, what a lousy time to have cold feet. No, she hadn’t come this far to give up now. Besides, Zeke deserved his little comeuppance, and it would go a long way to elevating her in his esteem. Before she could debate it any further, she marched across the threshold into the bathroom. She found Joe’s brush in one of the drawers of the vanity along with his shaving cream and razors. She pulled several hairs out of the brush and placed them in the small plastic bag she’d brought in her handbag for that purpose. She was on her way back to the kennels in less than five minutes, start to finish.

  Tina and Helene were inside a large grassy area that was fenced off beyond the kennels. Helene was sitting on the ground with six white balls of fluff climbing all over her, jockeying for her attention. “Aren’t they the cutest things you’ve ever seen?” she asked, beaming up at Rory.

  “You’re a real natural with them,” Tina said. “Believe me, they don’t act this way with everyone. You just let me know if you want one of the new pups.”

  Helene’s smile broadened as she gently extricated herself from her little mob of fans.

  “I’d better put a deposit on one now,” she said, already rummaging in her purse for her checkbook.

  Rory jumped in before Tina could close the deal. “I think you need to give this some more thought, Aunt Helene. You know how you’re always running somewhere or other, and don’t forget you just started rehearsals for the next play. You’ll need to line up someone to doggie-sit.”

  Unexpectedly Tina took up Rory’s cause. “Your niece is right, these are companion dogs. They don’t like spending a lot of time alone.”

  Helene seemed to be the only one on an entirely different page. Nothing new there. “I’ll ask your mom to help out,” she said to Rory, undeterred.

  “Listen, why don’t you let me know?” Tina said. “I’ll hold one back until I hear from you.”

  Before Helene could dig herself any deeper into a commitment, Rory
thanked Tina, said she’d get back to her soon with an update on the case and hurried her aunt off to the car. By the time she’d dropped Helene at home, she was reasonably certain that she’d talked her out of buying the dog. To seal the deal she told Helene she could visit Hobo whenever she wanted. In the process she wound up inviting her to dinner so she could meet him. Helene was cheered by the prospect. After all, Hobo wasn’t just any dog. Since Rory had adopted him, he was her great-nephew. Family had always held a lot of sway with Helene.

  Rory left her with a promise to call and set a date once she knew when her parents would also be free. Unfortunately she was going to have to beg for Zeke’s cooperation, which meant mending some fences she wasn’t particularly eager to mend at the moment. She’d deal with all that later, though. Right now she was running late for her meeting with BB.

  Barrett Browning III, medical examiner for Suffolk County, had been happy to hear from her, and happier still when she suggested they meet at the Starbucks near his office in Hauppauge. Apparently they made a buttermilk scone there that compared favorably with the ones he’d sampled in England.

  Rory arrived with two minutes to spare and found BB ensconced in one of two easy chairs that had a diminutive table wedged between them. He was sipping a chai latte, which he proclaimed the perfect accompaniment to the scone that sat untouched on its napkin while he’d waited for her. As the son of a socially prominent family, he had the manners of a gentleman, if not always the refined tastes of one. And he’d be the first to admit that he was more of a gourmand than a gourmet, a fact easily verified by his substantial girth.

  He insisted that Rory have a seat while he took care of placing her order. He hoisted himself out of his chair with some difficulty, disappointed that all she wanted was a simple cup of coffee. He took it upon himself to buy her a scone to taste anyway and refused to let her pay even when she protested that she’d invited him.

  “Not at all, dear girl, I won’t hear of it, not another word,” he said, placing the coffee and scone in front of her and reclaiming his seat. “Now, how can I be of service?”

  Rory explained the case to him, remarking about how difficult it was to narrow the spectrum of potential suspects. In the process she couldn’t resist adding a quick mention of Hobo, who seemed to be ever present in her thoughts.

  “Sounds a lot like the dog I had as a boy,” BB said with a nostalgic smile. “Great big, hairy thing, also of indeterminate lineage. My parents had planned to buy a pedigreed something or other, I forget what, with papers and a family tree as impressive as theirs. But I wanted a dog no one else wanted.” He paused for a moment’s reflection. “I guess I was looking for a dog like me.” His eyebrows arched with surprise at this sudden epiphany. “Of course I’m not referring to my relationship with my family,” he hurried to explain. “They were more doting than any child could want or deserve. But I was the odd one in school—you know, good grades, but two left feet on the soccer field?”

  Rory just smiled and nodded. She didn’t feel she knew BB well enough to comment one way or the other on such an intimate disclosure.

  Then BB’s face split into an impish grin that puffed out his cheeks like a chipmunk gorging on acorns. “Sorry to go all maudlin there on you. Anyway, back to the subject at hand. I think you were about to tell me in what particular way I could help.” He broke off a piece of his scone and tucked it into his mouth with a deep sigh of pleasure.

  Rory was glad to leave the psychoanalysis behind. “Actually this is probably more up Reggie’s alley than yours,” she said, pulling the two plastic bags out of her purse and explaining what she needed done. “Of course if he doesn’t want to get involved again, please let him know I understand.”

  “C’est compris, not to worry, no hay problema,” BB assured her. “Reggie is always game for projects that are, shall we say, tangential to his job description.”

  “I’ve been meanin’ to talk to you about that gun of yours,” Zeke said a moment after he materialized near the fireplace.

  Rory had been sitting on the couch reading the newspaper while Hobo snored away at her feet. She immediately put her finger to her lips in hopes of quieting the marshal. With any luck they might be able to hold a conversation without waking the dog and starting another round of “save me from the ghost.” Of course she had no way of knowing if Zeke was in a cooperative mood or actually looking to cause some chaos.

  “The Walther?” she whispered, hoping for the former.

  Zeke took a seat in the closer of the two armchairs before replying. “It’s not enough firepower,” he said in a lower voice. “You should be carryin’ a .45 or a .357. That way when you shoot a guy he goes down and stays down. The Walther is just goin’ to irritate him.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since I turned in my service pistol. I just haven’t gotten around to buying one yet.”

  Zeke had opened his mouth ready to launch into a full-out rebuttal as he always did when she disagreed with him.

  “Was there something else you wanted to say?” she asked sweetly.

  “I swear sometimes you stay awake nights thinkin’ up new ways to confound me.”

  Rory laughed. “It really doesn’t require that much effort.” She regretted the words as soon as she said them.

  “Oh, you mean sorta like this?” Zeke’s mouth tugged up in a mischievous grin. “Hobo,” he called.

  The dog’s eyes popped open, still bleary with sleep, and Rory groaned.

  Zeke vanished from the chair and popped up inches from the dog’s nose with a playful “Boo.”

  When was she going to learn that it was never a good idea to bait the marshal?

  Chapter 14

  Rory had been surprised to hear from Deirdre Lopez a week after her initial visit to see her at town hall. The phone call had been strangely cryptic. After the briefest of greetings, she’d asked Rory to come in to see her at one o’clock the next day if that was convenient. When Rory had inquired as to the reason for the meeting, Deirdre had simply said it was a matter that could best be attended to in person. Before Rory could follow up with another question, Deirdre thanked her and said good-bye.

  As soon as Rory arrived at town hall, Deirdre Lopez’s secretary showed her into the clerk’s office.

  “Thank you for coming in again,” Deirdre said, rising to shake her hand. “Please have a seat.” She was wearing a dove gray suit, perfectly tailored to her narrow curves, with burgundy heels and a strand of pearls at her neck. The woman knew how to dress.

  “After you left last week I found myself wondering if perhaps I’d overlooked something that might help in your investigation,” she said once they were both seated. “Since it’s been my habit to keep a daily work log, I went back a couple of years and started reading through my entries. Pretty dull stuff,” she said with a little laugh. “At least until I got to May tenth of 2008.”

  Pen and pad in hand, Rory found herself leaning forward in her chair as if she could reach the information more quickly that way.

  “On that day I fired a woman in my department by the name of Anita Callaway. I’m actually surprised that I’d forgotten about it, because it was a particularly unpleasant incident. Who knows, maybe I blocked it out for that reason.” She shook her head as if she were still annoyed with the lapse in her memory. “Anyway, Anita had been receiving substandard reviews from her immediate supervisor for close to a year. I won’t go into the specifics, because they’re not relevant to your investigation, and I believe in protecting employee confidentiality.”

  Rory murmured that she understood.

  “So,” Deirdre went on, “I had a frank talk with her myself to make it clear that she was at serious risk of losing her job. When her performance didn’t improve by the next reviewing cycle, I followed through and terminated her employment here.”

  Rory was taking notes as quickly as she could, preferring not to interrupt Deirdre’s narrative. She’d been privy to enough po
lice investigations to know that a lot of valuable information could be lost that way.

  “Anita reacted as if she’d never been warned that she was in danger of being fired,” Deirdre said. “She became verbally abusive and even threatened me. She had to be escorted out of the building by two of our security guards.” Deirdre’s usually well-modulated voice had become tight and agitated as she retold the story, as if she were remembering those moments on a visceral level. “Now, I’m not easily intimidated, Ms. McCain, but I have to admit I was worried at the time that she might walk back in here one day armed with an assault rifle to even the score. Thankfully that never happened.”

  “I guess that’s a normal fear given what you hear about these days,” Rory said.

  Deirdre squared her shoulders and lifted her chin in an effort to regain her composure.

  “If you’d like we could take a break before continuing,” Rory offered.

  “If you could give me a minute or two.”

  “Of course.” Rory assumed she was going to leave her office for a glass of water or a trip to the ladies’ room, but Deirdre just settled back in her chair and closed her eyes. She took a long, deep breath, then slowly exhaled. She repeated the exercise several times, while Rory sat there trying not to stare at her. There was little else to look at other than the four beige walls adorned with a few uninspired paintings that looked like they’d come straight off an assembly line. Either Deirdre’s flair for clothes didn’t carry over to office décor or she simply didn’t care much about her work space.

  “There.” Deirdre smiled as she opened her eyes again. “Biofeedback. It’s really quite amazing. I didn’t believe in it myself until I tried it.”

  She did sound calmer to Rory. “I don’t suppose it would work on dogs?” she asked to lighten the mood. Or ghosts?

  Deirdre laughed. “Your dog must be like my cat. Major issues.”